Trade Mistakes
by emptyonideas
Summary: And just when I thought I'd gotten away from all the crazy people, he came back into my life. Clint/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Day One**

I had always eaten my lunch up above. It was peaceful, to hear the hum of machines and talk of the scientists but to be removed at the same time. On the ground, I was expected to have some semblance of knowledge to what they were talking about. And while I knew the basics, I wasn't quite the genius my mother was. I was mostly here to do silly jobs—inputting and saving data, delivering lunch, answering the stray phone call. But when I came up here, I could just observe everything in the bluish light and almost make pretend like I wasn't wasting my time here.

And then he showed up.

I was sitting against the wall, the tips of my shoes reaching the edge of the platform without quite dangling over. I took a bite of my sandwich—turkey, slightly hard on the corners, because I'd been too lazy to get groceries. The bread was a little wet but I ate the soggy crusts anyway.

I heard him before I saw him. Of course, I had seen him climb up before, after my mother had told me an agent would be watching over us. She waved me off before I could ask who he was.

"You got something against the ground?" he asked, frowning at me.

"Do you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I hadn't seen his foot touch the floor since yesterday, albeit I wasn't here as often as my mother was.

"It's my job. You're using my space as a cafeteria."

I was normally very polite around here, but his attitude was rubbing me the wrong way. Plus, _I_ had been here first.

"I wasn't aware you owned these rafters," I said, thinking of how Selvig called him 'The Hawk. "Please send my apologies to your bird overlords."

"Don't you have any...friends you can eat lunch with?" he asked, shifting his weight to his left leg.

"I don't like what you're implying, agent." I narrowed my eyes.

"Listen Rapunzel," he said, smirking, "I don't care who you eat lunch with. But please find another tower."

**Day Two**

I was back, because after a day of brooding and a whole lot of wondering _who does he think he is _I decided that I would eat my lunch where I pleased and he could just stay away if he didn't want to be near me.

But before I got halfway through my sandwich, his voice loomed above me.

"Rapunzel's back," he drawled, appearing from the shadows.

"I couldn't stay away, Agent Barton."

"Well that's flattering," he said, grinning at me. "But I really can't have distractions."

"Distractions from what exactly?" I asked, looking at the people on the ground. Most of them were just scientists, milling about. "I don't think any of these people will give you any problems."

"No...most of them have boring pasts," he said, sitting beside me but keeping his eyes on the floor below. "But why exactly does a person with a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice, three years out of school, work as an intern for a project with absolutely nothing to do with their field?"

"I lost my passion for it," I lied glumly, looking away. Every time I thought of my previous job, the one where I actually felt important and threw it all away, I tended to feel pretty pessimistic.

"And gained a passion for filing?"

I glared at him. He smirked back. He was so irritating I denied to myself that he was handsome in any sense.

"Beats your passion for stalking in high places."

His smirk fell, and I smiled innocently.

"I think your lunch break is over, princess."

Unfortunately, he was probably right. I checked my watch—five minutes to go, but I'd just run to the bathroom. I was done with the Hawk for today.

"My name is Taylor," I corrected, dusting off my jeans and rising to my feet.

"See you tomorrow, Rapunzel."

**Day Three**

"Do you know any good jokes?" I asked, looking up as Clint walked over to me. "I'm _dying_ for a good joke."

With a glare he was intimidating, but when he was confused he lost that power.

"Are you trying to bother me?"

"I'm trying to make the time fly."

"Time would fly faster if I wasn't answering stupid questions."

I pretended to think.

"I just don't think that's true."

He spun on his heel. I'd won for today, at least. I took a congratulatory bite of my yogurt.

"You're getting stranger and stranger," Clint said, his voice echoing as he walked away.

**Day Four**

"Turkey again? How boring. You've really got to get to a grocery store."

**Day Five**

"I saw you talking a man today," Clint said, grinning. "Doesn't he ever ask you to eat lunch with him?"

"I saw you talking to no one today...don't they ever ask you...oh _shut up_," I sputtered.

He just laughed.

**Day Six**

"I'm going to start getting the wrong impression, Rapunzel."

"Trust me, Barton, this is a gesture of truce," I said, smiling at him and outstretching my extra sandwich.

"For me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Turkey," I grinned. "I remembered how much you liked it."

* * *

After that, we fell into a strange groove. Some days I would bring extra sandwiches, some days extra drinks or crackers. We usually talked about the scientist's strange habits.

"Ever notice your mother will only scratch her nose with her left hand?" Clint asked. "And that short one over there—he counts his steps."

"And Selvig's socks never match," I said, pointing to the space above his pants which flashed blue and dark green. "And that intern girl with the red hair over there is stupid."

Clint fixed me with a look.

"Okay, it's not observant, but I really don't like her."

Clint always noticed more than me, but in my defense, he watched them all day and I only had a half hour lunch.

He remained sarcastic and difficult, and I always returned it with a smile. He even stopped asking me to go away eventually. On some level I grew to like our lunches. It sure beat all the monotonous tasks laid out for me.

...And then I got the flu. It was the worst I'd ever had it—an ache all the way to my bones. I could barely stand up and shuffle to the bathroom, let alone go to work. After drowning in tissues and DayQuil for a week, my mother came to my apartment with frantic cries.

"It's gone...the building, the Tesseract, Doctor Selvig has been taken over..."

Turns out I missed one hell of a week at work. And the time that followed was pretty action packed too.

I watched New York crumble on TV. I watched the Avengers save it. I talked to Dr. Selvig on the phone after he'd returned, a little worse for wear but still the brilliant man I knew. I waved to my mother each day as she set off to her new project. And while I looked for work, I ate lunch at home alone, not quite missing but wondering where Agent Barton was these days.

I was mostly happy to be out of there. My mother had ties to S.H.I.E.L.D. but I did not, and if they were messing around with aliens and destruction, I was better off moving on to something else.

Or so I thought.

* * *

**Yes, I have a problem...look out for my Fury story next. Just kidding, but really I couldn't help myself. Should I continue? The sarcasm I could do with Clint seems too much to resist. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_"So why were you fired?"_

_I looked at Clint, who was busy popping my grapes into his mouth, and felt a familiar embarrassment and anger rise in my chest. I tried to think of how he would know, or if he guessed, but then I remembered he was an agent and that only meant one thing..._

_"Did you do a background check on me?" I asked, shifting my body so I could better face him. And glare._

_"Don't pretend like you didn't do one on me, O'Brien." _

_He smirked while I flushed. Sometimes I did check out people I was around, using some of the contacts I still had. Old habits die hard. Unfortunately, I couldn't find much of anything on Clint Barton._

_"So why were you fired from Security Solutions?" he prodded, popping another grape. "Clever name by the way."_

_"It's none of your business."_

_"Fine. Forget I said anything."_

_I let the words fall between us. Clint was surprisingly good at dropping things, but it usually meant he would remain silent for a few hours afterward. And it was hard enough getting him to have real people conversations in the first place. _

_"I had a partner named John Ward," I said, looking away from him. "We set up security for private businesses. We had a big client—our biggest actually. We set up their security systems but we also personally checked out all the people they dealt with. One of those people bribed John not to report a few less than stellar things from their past. Our client found out..." I shook my head. "I went down in the crossfire. They assumed I knew about it."_

_"That's bullshit," Clint said, surprising me with his violent tone. "They couldn't prove that."_

_"Yeah, well..." I trailed off, debating to tell him or not. It still sent shoots of hostility and shame through me to admit it, but the story made more sense when you knew. "We were sort of dating at the time. People couldn't imagine I wouldn't know." I sighed heavily, feeling a sharp pain jab against the backs of my eyes. "Needless to say, that didn't exactly put me at the top of anyone's interview list."_

_Clint frowned, but didn't say anything. I dropped my gaze and looked down at the scientists, but could feel the silence between us acutely. Was he judging me? I knew almost nothing about his past, but somehow his lack of response was weighing on me._

_"You have any pathetic stories to tell now?" I asked, poking his arm to bring him back to life._

_"This one time," he said, his voice suddenly low and drawn out. "A girl turned me down at a bar. **Me**."_

_I rolled my eyes. He was back._

_"You're an ass."_

* * *

The restaurant was crowded, but I guess I should have expected that at lunch hour. It was much fancier and more expensive than the one I had suggested, but Rhi had insisted upon it and it was much easier to go along with her than it was to argue.

I spotted her in the middle of the outdoor patio area and almost did a double-take. I don't think she had ever been early for anything in her life, but it was her—I could spot her telltale red highlights from here. They cascaded through her scalp and swept along her bangs which she flicked in annoyance as she waited.

I weaved among customers and busboys, careful not to knock anything over. I felt slightly underdressed as my eyes flitted among summer dresses and pantsuits, but I'd rather be comfortable than anything. Rhi had on a blue button up shirt, and even though I couldn't see her feet, I knew they'd be in high boots.

She stood up when she saw me, putting her hands on her hips.

"You look unhealthily thin."

"Hello to you too," I said, grinning. "And I doubt it. But if so, more people should take my advice of eating junk and not exercising."

"I think a few too many people are taking that advice already," Rhi said, giving me a brisk hug. Her skin was cold as she squeezed once and pulled away. "But how are you doing?"

I sat down across from her, reminding myself to put my napkin in my lap. Rhi was one of the few friends I still had. I cherished her for her slight abrasiveness and honesty. She told me things when I needed to know them, but she was loyal to me too. We went to school together, but she had drifted into the government side of things while I fell into the private sector.

In hindsight, I probably should've went with her.

"Fine," I said, looking up as a bald man came to pour me water. I smiled in thanks. "You?"

"I'm good," she said, tracing the rim of her own cup. "I already ordered you a drink."

"And what should I eat?" I asked, looking down at the menu. "There doesn't appear to be anything normal on here..."

"Just because it's not a cheeseburger or a steak doesn't mean it's not normal," Rhi said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, you're worse than my dad."

"If only I was twenty years older..." I mused as she scowled. "I'm just easy to please."

I continued to read the menu and get a little more depressed as I turned the page when Rhi fixed me with a look that I could feel through my bones.

"What did you do today? Wake up? Shower? Eat?"

"You say that like those aren't vital parts of life."

"You need to do something, Taylor," she said, biting her lip. "Tough love time."

"Oh no...am I going to get one of your speeches?" I groaned. I was not in the mood for a whip-yourself-into-shape pep talk.

"Not exactly."

I frowned and studied her. Rhi usually had two expressions—joking and not joking. This one looked guilty, which I was not accustomed to seeing on her. I placed down my menu, tilting my head.

"What did you do?" I asked slowly.

"He begged me," she said, putting her hands up in defense and rising from her chair. "Please don't hate me."

I looked to my left just as a suited man slid into Rhi's plastic seat. She held up her hands again, ignoring my eyes as the black haired, bespectacled annoyingly handsome man smiled and grabbed my hands. I pulled them away as quickly as possible.

"You suck at tough love," I hissed as at Rhi, glaring between her and John. "And I do hate you!"

"Don't take it out on Rhi, spitfire. You know I don't give up on things."

I'd almost forgotten what his voice sounded like, but here it was again. Low and filled with humor, big hints of confidence...a perfect voice for a liar.

"Well you can give up on whatever this is," I said, waving a hand frantically between us.

"I called you," he said, ignoring me completely. I watched distractedly as Rhi slipped away, and made a mental note to put her on my enemy list. "A lot."

"My phone was disconnected because I don't have a job because you got me fired," I said, almost spitting my words as I crossed my arms.

"Well I'm here to hire you."

"Why would I work with you again?" I asked, feeling the urge to rip either my or his hair out of his head. "You lied to me! As a partner, that's one thing. As a boyfriend, it's another. I don't trust you!"

"So I'm still your boyfriend?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

His audacity actually sent tremors of frustration through my body. They started in the pit of my stomach and exploded toward my fingers, until I thought I would internally combust upon myself.

"Of course not!" I hissed, trying not to yell in the middle of the restaurant. "It's been six months. I didn't plan on seeing you _ever again_."

"You don't even want to hear my offer?" he asked, leaning forward with a smile. His front two teeth were slightly crooked—something I once found endearing. Now I just wanted to kiss him, rip them out, and never speak to him again. Was that wrong?

"No I really don't—"

"—It's a weapon and defense company. No Stark Industries, but they're really growing."

"Does the word 'no' mean anything to you?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Anyway, obviously it's tricky business to sell weapons. They need top-notch security measures and pretty much the most thorough background checks you can think of. Naturally, when they contacted me, only one person came to mind..."

"And why would they want to hire you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Or do they not know about your criminal past?"

"I'm not a criminal, Tay," he sighed, pushing up his glasses. "It was blown out of proportion. And I happen to be on great terms with the head of this operation. He's looking forward to you joining the team."

The 'Tay' got me. He was acting as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't put me through emotional turmoil, as if he hadn't abruptly ended a relationship I thought was going pretty damn well.

I rose from my chair, not bothering to pick up my napkin as it fell to the floor. This time, I wasn't so careful in my weaving and I bumped and prodded through the people until I was practically running down the street.

I turned the corner, my mind feeling like it was rubbed against a cheese grater. What was Rhi thinking? She'd known how much he'd hurt me, and here they were acting like everything was just peachy...

My car was on a side street, away from the busy rush of traffic near the restaurant. I fumbled for my keys in my pocket. Where were they? I just wanted to speed home, down some Advil and pray for sleep to wash away my anger. I felt the sharp poke of metal against my skin just when a sharp stab poked through my neck.

My fingers flew to the source. My brain started to spin. I vaguely remembering running my fingertips over a short, protruding arrow before my legs completely betrayed me.

* * *

Clint had been watching Waltham since he started walking from his car, a black BMW that looked like it'd gotten washed just minutes before. He rolled his eyes. Knowing this guy, he probably had rolled in right from the cleaners.

He was wearing a gray suit and a green tie, which made him slightly easier to follow as he walked toward his destination. His stride was broad, despite not being a big guy. Clint felt his fingers itch to let an arrow fly, but he wasn't here for him.

Bring in his companion, Fury had said, she might know something. Rhi Larson. They'd been keeping tabs on her and thought she would be the string to Waltham. But he'd been watching Rhi talk with someone, and now as Waltham approached she rose from her chair...

He watched Rhi leave—her red hair another way for Clint to stay focused. He was good at standing in one place for a long time, but when people had distinctive traits it made his life a little easier. His eyes flicked back to Waltham, who was chatting with the other girl, leaning forward in his seat.

He was losing Rhi. But Waltham had barely looked at her. Clint watched Rhi's red hair disappear around a corner...he _could_ go after her. But Waltham looked so eager and pleased to be around his other girl that he had to make a decision quickly.

Clint turned his attention back to the restaurant, where the brown haired girl was speaking. He couldn't see her face but he watched her flurried hand movements with interest. Clearly she was very angry about something.

He made his decision, and stayed right where he was. If she was so angry, she might know more than Rhi Larson.

They talked for a few more minutes. Clint was just about to wonder if he should call in to Fury when the girl rose from her seat and fled the restaurant, knocking into people as she went.

He got up and stretched his limbs. He moved away from the edge of the rooftop so nobody would see him. The adrenaline had started already, and he cracked his neck before following the girl's route—the same, save for a few feet of elevation.

She had parked around the corner. It was quiet, thankfully, although he'd made do in much worse conditions. She was upset and distracted. That helped too. He slid down the fire escape as quietly as possible. She didn't look up once.

Her hair whipped around her head, long and untamed, as she searched her pockets. She was shorter than he thought, and much more unkept. She was even wearing sneakers. He stood still and grabbed an arrow with a special tranquilizer. Her neck would be the easiest way, and he'd have a moment to catch her before he fell.

He notched and fired.

His aim was perfect. He watched her body jerk in surprise, and he moved forward just as she crumpled.

But just when he caught her, he realized he recognized the locket on her neck—a small gold circle engraved with flowers. And the tattoo on her wrist—a shamrock with a J in it. He pushed aside her hair. It had gotten long since he last saw her.

"You're a little far from your home, Rapunzel," he said lowly.

Her eyes flickered with confusion before they finally shut.

* * *

**YAY! The response to this has been just wonderful, so I will definitely continue! Hope you all like. Big hugs to everyone.**


	3. Chapter 3

My body felt heavy, so I didn't move. My first thought was that John had kidnapped me somehow. I remembered bolting from the restaurant, shoving against people, getting to my car...but not getting _in_ it.

I peered around. Everything was metal and sleek. I couldn't see much except walls and a table with a pitcher and some bandages on it. I pushed up with my elbows but when the room began to sway I eased myself back down with a groan. I shut my eyes, hoping this was some sort of nightmare.

"Aspirin, O'Brien?"

I knew that voice. I opened my eyes and saw Hawkeye rattling a bottle of pills at me. His hair was longer than I remembered, but his eyes were still bright and they smirked as much as his mouth.

"_You_? Where have you been? My mom thought you might have died." My voice sounded strange, and it felt slower to talk, but it helped if I focused on one spot. Like Clint's nose. It was slightly big, but somehow it suited him.

He blew out a breath between his clenched teeth.

"Still alive, probably to her disappointment."

My mouth twitched. My mother and Clint had few encounters, but Selvig impressed some not so nice feelings about Clint onto her. But just as I began to smile, I realized that Clint was still wearing his black suit, with his special gloves, and I remembered the feeling of an _arrow in my neck_...

"**You** drugged me!"

"Drugged is a strong word," Clint shrugged. "Sedated is more appropriate."

"That's drugging, you..." I shifted to better insult him, but thinking suddenly felt like rowing through rapids. "_Ugh_, my body hurts—"

"You need to answer something for me about Waltham," Clint said, flipping a chair backwards and sitting down. His muscular arms gripped the seat and his face showed no signs of caring about cutting me off.

"Who the hell is Waltham?" I asked, rubbing my head. I pushed myself higher on my pillows so I could face him in a more upright position.

"John. The man you were having lunch with today?"

"John Ward?"

"He goes by Waltham now," Clint said, frowning. "I guess he wanted to erase his past as John Ward."

"Waltham was his mother's maiden name," I said, my brain whirring with curiosity. What did Clint have to do with John? Why was I here? What had John managed to drag me into this time, once again without my knowledge or consent?

"Did he ever hurt you?" Clint asked lowly, leaning forward an inch in his chair. "Put you in any sort of danger?"

"Not physical if that's what you mean."

"Alright. And did he tell you anything of importance today? About his boss Peterson? About what they're doing?"

"Just that they're a defense company," I said, my mind flashing to John's insisting attitude. "He offered me a job doing security with him."

Clint let his chair fall back down to the ground. It squeaked as he rose from it, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I was recovering from your mild sedative. It wasn't the first thing on my mind," I growled, leaning my head back to stare at the ceiling. "And by the way, why did you shoot me with an arrow? Filling in for Cupid today?"

He didn't laugh. I wasn't looking at his face, but I also suspected he hadn't cracked a smile.

"I'll be right back," he said briskly instead, betraying nothing.

"Wait, hold on, you haven't answered—"

But he was already out the door.

* * *

I had trouble amusing myself without books or art supplies, and since this space was as bare as a prison cell, my mind had to occupy itself. And since I was concentrating very hard on ignoring memories of John, I turned to my guilty pleasure...

Pop culture.

Newest challenge? Connect Joseph Gordon-Levitt to Elijah Wood.

Ok...he was in _500 Days of Summer_ with Zooey Deschanel...she was in_ Elf_ with Will Ferrel, who was in _Step Brothers_ with Adam Scott...

I heard voices just when I was close to completing my movie chain. They were outside my door, raised, and definitely not happy.

I could relate.

"She's a civilian," said the first voice, "She's not trustworthy."

"Her mother has worked with us for years, I trust her. Taylor's our only chance. Waltham only works with people he knows, we can't get anyone else in there."

"Natasha could get in."

"We can't fake Agent Romanoff's connections on this one, Barton. This is the only way. If it makes you feel better, you can be on the case."

My heatd began to race. My dizziness and the knife now pressing through my skull had kept me from becoming too panicked that I was apparently with S.H.I.E.L.D. but now it was obvious they were talking about me. Me, who spent most days watching_ Project Runway_ and feeling sorry for herself...and they wanted to get me "in there"? In where?

The door slid open. The hiss of air wasn't enough time for me to hide my obvious nervous facial expression. I recognized Director Fury from his very brief visits to my mother's lab. Clint stood next to him with a scowl on his face, avoiding my eyes.

"Good to see you're awake, Miss O'Brien."

"Good to see you're pretending you didn't drug me, Director Fury." I swallowed, wanting to cut out the chit-chat. I wanted answers, not pleasantries. "What do you want me to do?"

Fury smiled at my directness. It was something I knew he appreciated.

"I just want to let you know this is your choice," Fury said, standing with his spine straight and staring at me through his good eye. "But you're _our _only choice. You, and probably you alone, can infiltrate Waltham's company."

"Be a spy?"

My mind flashed to laser beams and black suits. I wasn't a bad liar, but to completely pretend to change my outlook was another thing. I tried to catch Clint's eye, to see what he was thinking, but he trained his blank look on the wall behind me.

"Be an informant," Fury said, crossing his arms. "Take Waltham up on his offer. Find out what you can, and relay it back to us."

"What do you know that I don't?" I asked, my voice suddenly sounding very small. The last I knew, John was just taking bribes. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was on to him, he must be on to bigger and much worse things...

"Only bits and pieces," he admitted. "Peterson's been mixed up with bad people in the past. But with Waltham's contacts...we've heard rumors of him selling weapons to other countries. Maximizing on the fear after the Loki incident. Trying to creature more soldiers like Captain America. Failing. Trying to use mutants with hazardous traits and use them without care for their well-being."

I let my thoughts take over as my tongue took a break. Could John really be involved with this? The John who watched Jeopardy with me every Monday and Wednesday night? The John who always left me the crossword puzzle, and couldn't drink coffee without at least six sugars?

Fury beckoned an agent forward that I hadn't seen standing in the doorway. He had a tablet in his hands and after pressing the screen, faced it toward me.

There was a little girl on the screen, her eyes big and brown and her hair too curly to fit in the frame. Fury flicked his finger. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still see her body, covered in bruises and her eyes flung open like she was watching someone above her. When I opened them again, there were wires on screen. The photo was blurry, but I could see the outlines of what I guessed was an explosive. He flicked it again to a page of formulas, none of which I could understand.

"This is the only evidence we could procure. There are too many puzzle pieces and not enough of them fit together."

This was real life again. I hadn't faced it in a while. In a way, it felt good to be needed. In another way, I couldn't move or I would shake so hard they would see.

Could I pretend with John? Would he see right through it?

"He's suspicious. All the time," I almost whispered. "He'll notice if I take secretive phone calls."

"We'll set you up in an apartment complex. We'll have you protected."

I nodded briefly.

"Is that a yes?"

Was it? If I said no, would more little girls suffer? Would bombs go off? Would weapons fall into hands of those who didn't know how to use them? Everything I knew about criminals and security ultimately came back to one thing, which was protecting the world and doing the right thing.

"Yes," I said, trying to infuse my voice with the bravery by body didn't feel.

Fury nodded once, curtly, and then smiled.

"Thank you, Miss O'Brien. Not all of those who need to can rise to the occasion, but I know you will."

He turned on his heel and left the room.

I turned my attention to Clint, the silent statue in the room.

"I know what it's like to have someone...control you," he said, "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

My mind flashed to Loki. I'd only seen pictures on the news, but my mother still had nightmares about him. And he'd been in Selvig's head...and Clint's. I shuddered for him.

"This isn't the same."

"I'm just making sure this is free will," Clint said, frowning as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Fury wants you to do this, so he might have painted a rosier picture than it will actually be."

"Are you feeling guilty because you were forced to do things?"

"You don't know anything about it," Clint snapped, his eyes flashing.

"I'm not trying to," I defended, raising my hands. Clint's eyes turned away, and his lids made them seem less threatening as he looked at the floor. I softened as I remembered his sharpness was from guilt.

"Cracking heads of people that deserve it makes me clear mine a little more," he affirmed. "I just want to make sure you know it will be dangerous."

"Are you afraid because I'm not trustworthy?" I asked, locking eyes with him. His earlier words pierced my skin more than I wanted them to.

"Of course you heard me," he grumbled. "That's...not what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair. His black gloves made it stick up as he turned to face the door. "I just meant you're not a trained fighter. And we don't have time to do much with you."

"Why do you do this job?" I asked.

"Because I'm good at it," he said with a smirk. "And I'm too old to be in the circus."

I rolled my eyes.

"I did my job because it was important, and it helped people." I thought back to the days where I would spend hours planning and forget to have lunch. "I haven't felt important in a long time."

Clint didn't say anything. As I leaned back on my pillows, I actually began to think that this was the longest conversation we'd ever had...

"I'm sorry I called you untrustworthy," Clint finally said, his voice low.

"I'm sorry I called you an ass."

"You didn't," he said, his mouth twitching upward.

"Oh trust me, I did."

This time, he laughed, a short burst from the chest that made me smile instantly.

"That's no way to treat your new neighbor, Rapunzel."

* * *

**Sorry this one was sort and uneventful, but I needed to get it all established. It picks up soon! Thank you for your all support, keep it up so my self-esteem stays elevated. Please and thank you kindly. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

"Body language. Keep yourself relaxed—don't fidget or cross your arms. Now, pretend I'm Waltham and _convince_ me you want the job."

I looked at Agent Romanoff, the one Clint had mentioned two days before. I'd been sitting with her for twenty minutes, and she was apparently not so thrilled with my conviction. And S.H.I.E.L.D. needed me to be as good at lying as possible.

"I've rethought it," I said, trying to imagine John in front of me instead of this intimidating red-head. "I just...was angry you lied to me before. It hurt you know, that you couldn't tell me everything. But now I need a job and if you can get me one, I'll take it."

"That's better. It's good to draw on the truth, that way it's believable and you're less likely to forget what you said," she observed. "But your reversal can't be so simple...act like it was a hard choice to make. And don't twist your hair—that's your tell."

I didn't like that I was so transparent to her. But I swallowed any sarcastic remarks and did as she told me, because my success and safety for the next few weeks hinged on this.

"Alright," I said, pressing down my frustration and making sure my hands were folded in my lap. "You hurt me, not just because you couldn't tell me, but because I couldn't work. I couldn't get a job. I guess I was overreacting the other day...but if you can offer me a chance to finally get back into it...well I shouldn't decline."

"Better. But is this what you would say?"

"Isn't this whole exercise what I would say?" I asked, frowning.

"I mean is this your normal reaction? If you really changed your mind, what would it entail? What would he expect you to do or think?"

I thought about her words. It made sense. I didn't just have to ask like a person changing their mind, I had to act like _myself_ changing my mind. And as much as I wanted to forget it, John knew me pretty well.

"I'd be pretty suspicious of everything," I admitted, thinking of the minimal details I had about the Peterson Company. I always liked to know the particulars with who I was working with. There were less surprises that way, and that was always a plus in my line of work.

"So act like it," Natasha recommended, leaning back in her chair and putting on a blank expression.

I took a deep breath.

"Do you trust this Peterson guy? I know you're just doing security, but who's he selling to? What's he selling?"

"That's not our concern. Our concern is just that nothing is stolen, nobody is going to talk about anything, and that everyone knows as much as they need to."

"That's an excellent John," I commended, smiling at Natasha, just to see her reaction.

"Thanks," she said, her mouth twitching upward.

"Well," I continued. "if you trust him, and nothing is so visibly out of the ordinary...I guess I'd be stupid to refuse," I continued, hoping I sounded stoic.

She raised an eyebrow at me, nodding her head.

"Good."

"Good?" I asked, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "That's it?"

"Well we don't have much time, so good will have to do. Just remember—body language, partial truth and confidence."

As our exercise drew to an end, I felt a familiar mingled fear tingle in my stomach. Some people stress ate, but when I got nervous I couldn't even look at food. In fact, sometimes my stomach would barely let me stand.

"I suppose you wouldn't understand if I was nervous as hell?" I asked, hoping this gloriously put-together person was actually real beneath the surface.

"I read your file," she said, leaning against her elbows on the table. "And his. Waltham doesn't seem to have many weaknesses...except you. My unofficial opinion is that he'll believe you because he wants to."

* * *

This was all happening a little too fast for me. A few days ago I was bonding with my couch. Three days ago, I was sedated and dragged here. And today, I was taking orders from a man in an eye patch.

"_We've set up an apartment for you," Fury told me this morning. "About two miles from the headquarters."_

When they finally released me from S.H.I.E.L.D. it was the afternoon and there was a moving truck at my house, equipped with four muscular men ready to pack my life up and ship it over to my new home.

_"You'll understand our need for top secrecy," he'd added, his gaze piercing even though it was just one eye staring at me. "You can't tell anyone you're undercover. Even your mother."_

I decided to only take what I needed and some other things to appear as if I really lived in this new place, but I didn't want to take it all. That felt a little too final to me. A little too uprooting, and permanent, for something I hoped wouldn't take too much out of my life.

"_You can tell your friends and family you've taken the job of course. It has to outwardly appear that all is normal."_

When my clothes, some books, and my pots and pans were safely in the hands of Ivan, Robert, Carter, and Scott I tied a scarf around my neck. Rhi had made it for me in what she deemed her "sensitive phase" which consisted of her knitting only this one scarf in her "attempt to be her mother." Needless to say, she hasn't made anything since.

I had strict instructions to take my slightly battered, scuffed-on-the-rear-bumper car to my new place. I told a small lie to Carter and watched them pull away in a white van full of my things. Right now, there was one person who would notice my absence acutely, because it was a Sunday and Sunday was Visiting Day.

The drive was long and every time I went there I got a headache, but I still went. I rubbed the tattoo on my wrist—I could remember getting it with my dad on my eighteenth birthday. _Family before everything_, he'd told me, _no matter what_.

I couldn't tell him what I was doing, not really, but I knew he'd understand. Like I understood he was just trying to help us. It didn't make me forgive him, not really, but it gave me some comfort at least, to know what it was like to try and do the right thing.

I just hoped like unlike him, it didn't blow up in my face.

* * *

An hour and a half later I pulled up at my new home, an apartment complex with a tiny parking lot but a nice enough outside. My car sputtered to a stop and I surveyed the place from my windshield.

It was brick, everything red and brown down to the shutters. There were balconies, which I hadn't expected. The wrought iron looked flimsy even from here, and I resolved not to take too many lunches out there. Some people had flowerpots hanging over, the blooms long dead and now just home to piles of dirt.

I opened the door and fished in my pocket for the card that Fury had given me.

_Sunny Oaks, Apartment 4B._

There wasn't anything sunny about it, but there was an oak tree, so I guess that was good enough. I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed inside.

There wasn't a lobby per se, but more of a small square with wall to wall dark blue carpets and a desk in the corner. Whoever was there was not on duty, but I didn't bother ringing the bell. There was an elevator on the wall in front of me, and a door which I assumed was the stairs a few feet over. Surprisingly enough, the elevator wasn't broken. I probably should have taken the less lazy option with the stairs, but seeing my dad drained me and I was eager to see my new living arrangements.

I didn't see anyone as I traveled up to the forth floor. It had mirrors all around the elevator, but I ignored my appearance for now. All I focused on was my frayed scarf, bundled in the middle of my black peacoat, the flash of green a small balloon on the front walls. It dinged when I reached my floor.

This level had creaky floorboards, but was clean otherwise. The walls were white and smelled freshly painted. The doors were dark red, with gold numbers.

4B was on the first door on the right. I tried to open it without my key and the knob turned easily. I hiked my bag up my shoulder and walked inside.

The lights were on. I walked right into the living area, which was small but big enough for me. The floors were a dark wood that morphed into white tile when it reached the kitchen off the left. I saw minimal appliances as I walked forward, peering around. There were cardboard boxes on the floor. I guess the boys weren't going to help me unload. I didn't blame them—I had probably missed my window of opportunity.

I guessed the bedroom was to the right. Wanting to see that first, I turned when a hand grabbed my arm.

I jumped, screaming before thrusting my elbow backward. I had barely grazed whoever it was, and was formulating how I could scramble away when I heard a familiar low chuckle.

The hand had released me but my heart still thudded as I turned to face a laughing Barton. He had on regular clothes but they were still black and reminded me of his suit.

"So you're shit at fighting, huh?"

I hugged my arm protectively to myself and glared at him.

"I know some self-defense. I even took a karate class once," I protested.

"And was this before or after your seventh birthday party?" he asked.

"Tenth," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. "It counts."

He rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway? Nothing better than to stalk me?" I huffed, feeling my shock and fright fade to embarrassment.

"Stalk you?" he asked, crossing his arms. "You're my assignment. And you're lucky I didn't tell Fury you're so late."

I pouted in silent retaliation, not having a quip to send back. Sometimes I wished I could pause time to think of the perfect thing to say back, because I knew I'd think of it later. But Clint plowed onward, ever the agent.

"I have a few things to show you," he said, "Pay attention."

"Show away, sensei."

I couldn't see if he rolled his eyes, but I'm sure if I made the bet, I'd win. He turned to face the whole apartment. His black stood out against all the white and gray in the room. I hoped my things would brighten it up a little in here.

He picked up the cordless phone on my wooden coffee table.

"This phone is connected to mine. Anything you hear, I hear. If you hit twenty-one, an alarm goes off in my place and I'll know to pick up."

"How official."

"Wait 'til you see the parlor tricks."

I watched as he walked toward the couch, which was gray, flat, and pillowless. A bookshelf stood next to it, with nothing on it. Clint paused in front of it, slid his hand under the middle shelf and pulled. The center hooked away from the wood, no longer a seamless line, but a panel that opened into a doorway. Clint pushed it open and I saw a glimpse of an apartment that was a mirror image to mine.

"Now don't use this just for fun," he winked. "Emergency only."

"Like if my toilet is clogged?" I asked cheerfully.

"Like if you're bleeding to death," he corrected, cracking his knuckles before fixing me with a look. "How come you were late?"

I thought of my father in his drab jumpsuit, a phone pressed to his ear. His expression had contorted from confusion to anger as I told him about my new job. I eventually had to tell him it was with John, and that's when his face had turned purple. It was the first time I'd been happy there was glass between us.

"I didn't know I'd miss roll call," I muttered, looking away.

"You didn't tell him anything did you?"

I looked up at Clint, tangles of warmth lacing my cheeks. It knocked my breath away that he had guessed.

"No," I said, facing away. "Just that I couldn't visit as much for a while."

"Good. We've sent your mother on a new project that will take her out of state for a few weeks."

I was relieved. My mom was off-kilter since my dad's ordeal-even worse after Loki, and I didn't want to push her even farther.

"She's going to kill me when she finds out."

I didn't know this mission would require lying so much to the people I loved.

"Hopefully she won't have to find out at all," Clint said, moving away from the bookshelf and sitting on my bare couch. He looked uneasy, sitting a little too close to the edge so his legs had to crunch up.

"Waltham believed you?" he asked. "_Really_ believed you?"

"Really really," I said, thinking of our phone call. I had rivets of sweat on my face by the time I hung up. "I laid it on pretty thick. I'm just afraid...he'll get the wrong impression about things."

Clint looked up quickly, then pulled back his gaze. His eyes were sharp sometimes, but it was as if he knew and tried to dull them.

"I made it pretty clear I didn't want to get back together," I put in, "But John doesn't take no so easily."

Clint looked like he wanted to say something, but I wanted to spare him the trouble. It would probably only come out awkward, but I should have known he wouldn't understand my fear. Sure, I had once found John charming and attractive. But now I felt panic around him, and the idea that he might think I would kiss or do anything more with him made me physically sick.

I pushed down the thought as Clint broke the silence.

"Well, are you ready for tomorrow? Have everything you need?"

"I'm not walking into a battle, you know," I told him, sitting on the other side of the couch. It was as uncomfortable as it looked. "Not that it doesn't scare me."

"I don't like that we can't put a wire you," Clint admitted, "but I'm hoping this will be as painless as possible."

"You and me both," I said, frowning as I thought it over. He seemed so worried—but I wouldn't exactly be in the line of fire. If they ever found out what I was doing...well I wasn't equipped to deal with it. So they needed to **not** find out.

Clint seemed ready to leave at that, for some reason. I could always sense that look in his face—his desire to get out. It happened more frequently than not. He rose to his feet and started for the door, and for some reason, I followed him.

"I'll be here when you get home," he told me. His boots thudded on the floor, probably causing a racket to whoever was downstairs.

"Thanks honey," I said, smiling. "Have dinner ready."

He had stopped just a second before the door, flexing his foot outward and causing me to trip over one of his noisy boots and land with a thud against the wall. My palms stung as I looked at him in shock.

"Work on those reflexes, O'Brien," He smiled, waving his hand in the air before he opened the door.

Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell I was thinking saying yes to this.

* * *

Sorry it took so long, I was a lil busy with my Bruce story. Action to come soon...hopefully I'm not boring you all with the buildup! Who loves Clint? Raise your hand or review, whichever you'd like. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

It's ALIVE!

P.S. Thank you ClintFan for reminding me that people still read this, and that I had half a chapter waiting to be finished. Also, I don't have a tumblr, but I've been pondering it, so I'll let you know if it happens anytime soon! Thanks for the encouragement, you rock.

* * *

_"So how's...the family?" I asked lamely._

_"Good," John replied, his eyes holding amusement. "Yours?"_

_"Good."_

_"Well that's good."_

_"Yup...pret-ty good."_

_A moment of silent passed in which I simultaneously wanted to speak and say something witty or use my knife to whittle a hole for me to climb into. Instead, I took a big sip of wine._

_"So did you talk to Metcalfe today?" I asked, thinking of the one thing we had in common—work._

_"Yeah it looks like we won't be doing business with them. They didn't pass your extensive background checks...but I don't want to talk about work tonight."_

_"Sure, sure..." I trailed off, my eyes wide and desperate for him to say something._

_"You don't have to be so nervous," John grinned, placing his cup down. "We have worked together for months. I've seen you run meetings, and you're not nervous then."_

_"Yes but..." I sighed. "I'm composed at work. I don't want to show my true weirdness yet, so I have to filter a little." I frowned at my wine. "This isn't helping."_

_"I like your weirdness," John said, smiling again. "We work with a lot of high powered people. It can get boring if you're not with someone that can actually crack a joke."_

_"**You** are a high powered person," I pointed out with a smile._

_"I prefer ambitious," he said, straightening his tie. "And funny. Not to mention handsome."_

_"Not to mention annoying," I laughed, rolling my eyes._

_"Ah, **there** you are," he said, pointing at me with a grin while I narrowed my eyes._

_"I like you better at work."_

* * *

My nerves intensified as I stepped foot out my door, escalated while I drove, and gripped me in a vice when I spoke to the security guard at the gate. I jittered as I shut my car door and wobbled to the large, black front doors. A jolt of icy hot fire and spread through my chest, pinpricking me from the inside and finally lodging in my throat when John smiled at me across the bare, gray lobby.

I had been searched at the door, beeped in with a security code, and was told to meet someone promptly at noon to get an ID card of my own._ So at least this is a warm, welcoming environment. _

I swallowed my resentment and walked to John on the sturdiest legs I could manage.

"Hey Tay," John greeted, kissing my cheek quickly. He smelled like too much cologne and coffee, but he was clean-shaven and sharply dressed as always. I swallowed down all the rude things I wanted to say to him. "You look a little pale."

"First days make me nervous," I said, keeping my tone normal and infusing truth, just as Agent Romanoff had advised. To add emphasis, I smoothed down my black skirt and bit my lip.

"No need to be," he encouraged, gesturing me to follow him. He swiped his card through a pad next to double doors and they electronically opened, groaning with the effort. There were a set of elevators to the right and John pressed the white button with force. "It will be like old times."

_Except I'll be spying on you_, I thought, shaking my mind to rid it of the little girl Fury had shown me_. Except I don't trust you. Except I'm terrified._

I was spared the need to answer when John nodded at a woman walking down the hallway. She had on low heels but they still clicked against the shiny floors. Her lab coat slipped down her arms as she straightened her pin-straight hair and nodded back at John.

Everyone here looked like they could walk away from a windstorm completely perfect. John never had a hair out of place. Her skin was smooth and even. My stockings had a hole I was trying to cover, and I was about to vomit...

Instead, I tried to ignore my nausea and take survey of everything I could see. The hallway stretched to the left, having four doors on either side. The very end had two double doors with red lettering on the front that I couldn't make out from here. Guards in charcoal gray uniforms strolled past us.

The elevator dinged and I followed John, hoping auto-pilot would take over and I would be spared having to think about every action and word I said.

"Our home base is on the top floor," John said, pressing the number five button. I was reminded of the elevator in my new apartment building, and tried to imagine I was going there instead of moving through this cold headquarters. I thought I'd be alright when I arrived, but everyone here had the stoic faces of those who keep a secret. That would make my job a lot harder.

"What are the other floors?" I asked, pressing my fingernails into my palms as he moved closer to me.

"Well we leave a lot of the science to other companies, but we have some labs here," John told me, "Plus research and design, offices and boardrooms, that sort of thing."

"Do you ever go look around at the other floors?" I asked, making eye contact with him in the mirrors on the wall.

"Not really," he said, smirking. His eyes glowed as he rubbed his hand on my shoulder. "You were always more interested in the little details than I was."

I tried to smile. It was hard because John expected me to be comfortable around him and now I was pretty sure I couldn't move without flinching.

"Here we are."

The elevator doors slid open without a noise. My flats made squeaking noises against the floor, which made me sound much less dignified than the high heeled woman John had greeted. Just another reminder I didn't belong.

"We have a big meeting with a prospective business partner but it's not until the end of next week, so today will just be a tour and getting yourself acquainted with everything."

"Who's the business partner?"

"I'll show you the file later," John said, his shoes clacking like a proper business man. I frowned at his unwrinkled back. "Always a rush with you."

"Always secrets with you."

My eyes widened as the comment flew from my mouth. John turned around and I saw his eyes flash for a moment with anger. He quickly covered it up with a smile that could cut ice.

"Not anymore," he said, grabbing my shoulders. "I told you that."

I looked down, which meant I was level with his silk, blue tie.

"I know."

I wanted his hands off me. I wanted protection from him. I wanted Clint to be waiting with an arrow poised at his head if he came near me, but that wasn't going to happen because I had a job to do.

I studied criminal justice. I could be around criminals. I could swallow my own fears if it would help other people.

"Let's go in," I prompted, swallowing my protests. "Let's get started."

* * *

Clint never bothered with the front door. The person following her, Agent Bernard, had alerted him she was home, and alone, so he slid in through the bookcase and saw her poised on the edge of the couch, her head tipping forward, her hair almost dangling in her ice cream.

She must have seen his boots, because he hadn't made any noise but she didn't yell out in alarm like the first time. She lifted her head and pushed a spoonful of chocolate into her mouth, examining the pint in her hand.

"You know this is supposed to be four servings?"

"She reflected bitterly, shoveling more into her mouth..." Clint said deeply, mocking a narrator.

"Ha ha," she said, shaking her head in mock amusement as she swallowed another spoonful.

"Rough day princess?" he asked, plopping down next to her. He put his boots up on the table and tried to gauge her reaction to the question.

"I have this...problem," she offered, her hair falling into her face. It tended to do that a lot, and he willed her to look up at him more clearly. She actually did, turning her body to face him and tucking her legs under her on the couch.

"What is it?"

"I lost the ability to talk to people."

She caught Clint's eye before he had a chance to speak.

"—Don't say I never had it," she glared, "Because I did. But I was so damn nervous the whole day that I jittered when someone looked at me. Why would they ever trust me or tell me anything?"

"You're observant."

He paused, thinking.

"Please tell me there's more to that statement."

"Use your observations to get in with people."

"What?" she asked, plunking her spoon into the carton. He noticed with a smile that it hit the hollow bottom. "Hello, I notice you wear yellow on Tuesdays, please tell me what's going on in the lab on level one."

Clint grinned.

"C'mon," he said, getting up and gesturing for her to do the same.

"Come where? I'd hoped for a night in with Ben and Jerry."

"You just ate Ben and Jerry." He rolled his eyes. "Come on."

He grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and pulled her up, noticing her blush as she pulled her skirt down where it had ridden up. He smirked.

"What are we doing?"

"Field exercises."

* * *

"Okay, you just took a sample from her. What did you notice?"

Taylor plopped the chicken into her mouth, surveying the woman who'd given it to her. The red of her apron would've blended in with the cereal boxes behind her if it didn't have the grocery store logo on it.

"Her nail polish was smudged, some on her fingertips. Not professionally done."

"Okay, pretend she works at your company. What do her nails suggest?"

"She likes to save money. Or she doesn't have time to get them done."

"And how would that help you?"

"I could ask her for a manicure," she said sarcastically, throwing her hands in the air. "I don't know!"

Clint smiled. She was observant, and that was helpful, but she needed to use it in the right way.

"She's busy," he offered, "She can't get her nails done or even wait long enough for them to dry. Offer to go on a walk at lunch—she'll like moving around, and it's short enough that it won't interfere with her schedule."

"Not bad Barton," she said, smiling at him. "Scary...but effective."

"That's nothing."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. "Impress me."

Wanting to shut her up and awe her a little, he actually spoke the things he was accustomed to noticing quietly in the past.

"There are three people in the aisle over. One of them cooks a lot—she examines all the fruit and vegetables, and doesn't have a list. You can get in by asking for recipes. The other one has a dog. She already loaded up with dog treats, dog food, and a pack of bones. Mention visiting a shelter or a childhood pet and you're in. The third one is a mom, wearing a shirt to her kid's elementary school and buying enough snacks to feed a class so she's one active in school stuff. Mention seeing your cousin in a class play, or ask to volunteer at something and you're in."

"I don't know if I want to kiss you or run away from you," she said, tilting her head and looking at him with a dazed expression.

Clint felt a strange pull in his stomach. He had gotten used to her when he worked with the Tesseract but he didn't think he'd see her after that and for some reason it was like meeting her all over again. He had to reacclimate himself to her quirks before they took him off guard.

"Your turn, try him. Go order some turkey," he said, pushing her toward the butcher counter.

"How did you know the way to my heart was through compulsive observation and cold slabs of meat?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Isn't it every girl's?"

She laughed, as usual a short burst of energy. He watched her go up to the counter, shove her hands in her pockets, and order. He stood far enough away that he could hear the vibrations of voices but not the actual words.

He watched her for a few more seconds before he felt a buzzing in his pocket.

"Barton," he answered, turning away from the counter and seeing if anyone was close to him.

"Hey sugarlips, did you pick up the milk?"

"How do you know where I am?" he asked, too surprised to address the sarcasm.

"I know everything. I looked into the files you sent me."

"And?"

"And they are good at covering their tracks."

"Shouldn't you have an in, Stark? This is kind of your territory."

"While I did pee all over the weapons industry, it seems Peterson has found himself a new hydrant."

"Thanks for nothing then." Clint pressed his eyes shut to will away a impending headache.

"I'm working on it," Tony answered. "I'll call when I've got something.

Clint ended the call and slipped the phone in his pocket before walking closer to Taylor. Her hands were now out of her pockets and leaning against the counter, making handprints against the glass.

"Ready?" he asked her, seeing the man almost finish cutting her slices of turkey.

"Almost." She turned to him, narrowing her eyes. "He bikes. That's my in. I think I'm getting good at this."

The butcher turned around now and handed her a white package, sealed with a boar sticker on top.

"Maybe we can try out the new bike path sometime," he said lowly, his white hat almost slipping as he leaned toward her. Her face was still stuck in an 'o' when he cut her off.

"Too much," Clint said sharply, grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

She laughed as he jostled her toward the exit.


End file.
